Disclaimer: Every character that has been taken from BtVS or AtS belongs to Joss Whedon. Every other character belongs to me. And if Joss doesn't ask nicely, I won't let him play with them. Ha.

A/N: Thanks to my lovely Beta, Adela Nightmoon.

***

Los Angeles, 2006, a few days later


‘God, what a mess’, Buffy sighed, making herself comfortable on a couch. The red, round sofa stood exactly in the middle of the Hyperion’s hall and was giving her a good view of her surroundings. A few years ago she had come to the hotel by herself in order to remind Angel that he was in no position to make any choices in her love life. It wasn’t how she had remembered the place – before it was certainly less crowded, less louder and much more of the site her ex could actually live in. Now it was one big carnival.


Oh, sorry, ‘carnival’ wasn’t the word she should use – Giles and Angel preferred to call it the headquarters of their special mission. Boo-hoo, like they had never saved the world before.


Or maybe – maybe they hadn’t… Well, not like this. They were never that – organized. It was always about improvisation and blessed I’ve got a plan in the nick of time. And now just look at them – they had become a perfect Little Demon Fighters League. With a hierarchy and orders’ giving and professional research and…


Of course, she was one of the top guys, as the first, original, real, chosen-one, slayer. She attended all the important meetings and was still making the decisions. Oh, and by the way, she didn’t have to slay. Anything. At all. She had whole units of younger slayers to do the dirty work.


God, how much she hated it. How much she missed the old times, all those scooby nights when they were on their own, both with the research and the fight. Back then, they really mattered. They were Scoobies and to be a Scooby meant to be saving the world on a daily basis. Or nightly. Whatever. The point was… Okay, she didn’t have ta point, she just liked being miserable, ‘s all.


When Giles had called her, she had been at work, making hundreds of copies of some essential-for-the-world’s-balance documents. She had grabbed the phone and gone all happy, just because she heard Giles’s voice. The next thing she could remember, she was been on a plane, having hardly packed and listening to Dawn bitch about leaving Rome without a chance to say goodbye to her friends.


When she finally had got to the Hyperion this morning, the hotel had been already full of slayers. She’d been greeted by Angel and his friends – Wesley, her ex-watcher, who had become a surprisingly handsome man; his girlfriend Fred, whom she had heard about from Willow; Robin Wood’s look-alike Gunn; the green empath demon, Lorne and – and this one’s priceless – Angel’s son, Connor. She didn’t even flinch, she was the confident Buffy and probably that was the most suspicious thing about her behaviour.


Oh, and there was Harmony, throwing herself at the slayer, like they had been best friends. Well, they hardly spoke to each other during their glorious high school days. Of course there was that episode with Harmony kidnapping Buffy’s little sister and then Harmony trying to kill Buffy and Buffy trying to kill Harmony… But – well – she was just Harmony and her actions were beyond any known earth logic.


Before Buffy could even think that something was wrong, she had received the biggest scooby hug ever. Giles, Willow, Xander… Andrew, Kennedy, Faith, Robin… She secretly glanced at her sister – Dawn looked like she was about to cry.


But still – something was missing.


After a moment the group hug was broken and they were off and then she was left alone in this freaking huge hotel. All alone, because Dawn didn’t seem to be as lost as her older sister and immediately found something to work on. So it was just the sad slayer-retirement and the red round couch and bunches of people she hadn’t ever seen before.


And this feeling driving her insane about something-not-where-it-should-have-been.


“He’s not here,” Buffy jumped, completely taken by surprise. She saw this black guy from Angel’s team – Gunn, right? – staring at her with an irritating, knowing smile.


“Huh?” she asked, a bit confused, as he sat by her side, making himself comfortable on the sofa. “Who’s not here?”


“Ah, you know – average height, peroxide hair, cool British accent, walking malice,” he listed innocently. “The last time I saw him, he was passing by the name Spike.”


Buffy felt a slight sting, but there was no way she was letting Gunn throw her off balance. Oh yeah, right, probably that was the name this missing piece was going by…


Of course, Buffy knew he was alive. There was no universe in which Andrew could keep a secret for longer than for a second. At first, she was shocked, stunned and all the way oh-my-god-he’s-not-dust any more. And then realization hit her with the force of a troll hammer – he didn’t let her know. He came back from the deadest dead, after everything they went through, after what she had told him, after so many people she cared about were gone and he didn’t let her know. Spike, who could spy on her for whole nights, who was nearly always lurking near her house, who claimed to love her, who had gotten his soul back for her – he didn’t let her know.


So maybe she wasn’t supposed to know?


The part of her – hell, it was really big – wanted to fly to LA and remind him, that his place was right beside her. Dead or deader-than-dead he was meant to spy, lurk, love and sacrifice everything for her for eternity. And there was this other part – smaller but older and more mature, understanding and unbelievably sad – that was aware that she had no right to make his choices for him, and that he was his own man.


That there was this terrifying possibility he could have stopped caring about her. And that if that was so – she had to let him go.


So yeah, there was this little sting, but there was no throwing off balance for Buffy. No way.


“Color me surprised,” she snorted, perfectly uninterested. “Like he hasn’t been doing anything other than getting himself drunk to unconsciousness…”


“When I said he’s not here, I didn’t mean he’s not in the hotel,” Gunn seemed to be having a really good time. “He’s not here, as not here-here.”


“That is…”


“He’s not in LA,” the dark guy beamed at her. God, why was he so cheerful? “He left two years ago, after the big battle. He hasn’t contacted us since… Actually, he hasn’t contacted us at all,” he frowned, thoughtfully. “Well, guess there was nothing he cared about here enough to make a call…”


“And you’re telling me this, ‘cos…” Buffy interrupted, feeling like she was about to explode. She didn’t like Gunn, she never would, Simply because he’s mean, and annoying, and prattled about things she’s so not interested in, and she just wished he had…


…gone to hell.


“I dunno,” Gunn shrugged in response. “Just saw you checking out the crowd, like you were looking for someone… I’ve heard you two were… uh… friends, right?”


Buffy’s jaw clenched, however she remained perfectly still and calm. But Gunn didn’t seem alarmed, because he couldn’t have known, that there was nothing more frightening that still and calm Buffy.


“Yeah,” she confirmed with bitterness in her quiet voice. “We were friends.”


Gunn watched her stand up and walk away. He lost the sight of her the very next second, her petite figure disappeared, blending in the crowd of other slayers. Gunn chuckled humourlessly, thinking he’d finally been even with a certain vampire.


***


Two weeks have passed and they were still at the same point. Wesley shut another thick volume of ‘useless crap’, as Connor liked to call his precious books. ‘Treasury of wisdom’ his watcher-self had corrected, however unusually weakly.


Wesley reached for another book without conviction. Why was he researching anyway? He had no idea. It was frightening, how clear and straight forward the rules were this time. Evil army versus good army. No loopholes, no cheating, nothing at all.


Just a good ol’ fashioned struggle against doom.


With a deep sigh he tried to focus on reading. Reading was his thing. He liked it. He considered it as helpful. He was good at it.


And it appeared to be totally of no use now.


He heard some rumble in the hall, followed by bunch of girlish voices. The Slayers were back from patrolling, giggling and chatting about boys like regular teenagers. The thing was, that they were many things other than regular; and such unconcerned behaviour seemed a little inappropriate to Wesley. Well, but they weren’t his slayers to watch, teach or raise. Rupert never failed to reprimand him about that.


It was still amazing him, how they managed to carry on with their collaboration. AI and Slayer Central – probably the two most twisted and screwed organizations. This could have just burst if all their grudges and complexes had been revealed.


Because… Who was actually in charge? The necrophiliac slayer with a thing for dead, however appealing, bodies? The broody vampire with an unstable soul and awful hair? The old watcher, a dinosaur of his genre, always polishing his glasses? The young ex-watcher with an innocent fixation on axes? The lesbian witch, whose hobby was dark magic and flaying chauvinists? The black free-lance demon hunter, newly uploaded lawyer, who once sold his soul for a truck? The one-eyed guy with no special powers, but an indisputable demon magnet? The genius physicist addicted to tacos? The former ball of nice, green energy put in the body of a young klepto?. The psychologically unstable son of two vampires, who was attracted to older women? Or the cheery green guy, who loved dreadful, colourful suits?


And they wanted to win against the perfectly organized Evil Incorporated?


My my, wasn’t denial a fabulous concept?


“Wesley, could you please join us?” Rupert’s voice pulled him from distraction. With a deep sigh Wesley got up and headed to the lobby. Of course, it was very nice of Rupert that he still valued Wesley’s opinion enough to take his advice. On the other hand, Wesley was pretty sure, that most of the time Giles was just aiming for humiliating the former watcher, hoping that he would have no knowledge on the topic. Go team, go.


He found Giles talking with Willow and Buffy’s little sister, Dawn. They seemed to be absorbed with some old scrolls Willow were showing them.


“Ah, here you are” Giles gave him a quick glance, before his gaze returned to the papers. “Have a look at those texts,” he handed Wesley the scrolls.


“I was doing some magical research on my own,” Willow said gently. “You know, trying to find a battle spell that turns your adversaries into the Kermit army,” she beamed. “Well, I’m still working on that one, but I found something nearly as good,” she opened the thick volume she’d been carrying under her arm. “Here they mention a curse, that… ‘takes away enemies’ courage and blurs their thoughts’… Sounds good to me. Y-you know,” she added shyly, aware that her discovery didn’t solve any of their problems, “for starters.”


For starters? Good God, it was absolutely horrifying how lame it was from the same beginning. Right, that was off topic. Wesley returned his attention to the scrolls.


“The thing is,” Willow continued, “that in the book I’ve showed you there’s only a reference to that spell. Ingredients and more importantly incantations are not translated in any known literature. It was pretty hard but I got the originals.” Wesley raised his sight from the text, looking at the witch incredulously.


“Those are originals?” he asked, amazed.


“Well, yeah,” Willow tried to act with modesty, like getting authentic, ancient scrolls was bread and butter for her. “You see,” she hurried with explanation, “our friend was this huge e-Bay fan, she even bought the Urn of Osiris on the Internet…”


“There’s only one problem,” Dawn chimed in, not wanting them to get sidetracked or forget about her presence, “we can’t translate it.”


Wesley was really getting the idea how difficult it had to be, if Giles had failed.


“I’m quite surprised at that. As far as I know, you’ve always managed to…”


“Why thank you Wesley, it was absolutely what we wanted to hear from you,” Rupert snorted, obviously offended.


“Maybe it wasn’t what you wanted to hear, but it certainly was what you should be told,” the younger man responded instantly, determined not to let the Watcher be rude like that… For all they knew, they were standing in the hall of his agency. Figuratively speaking of course.


“What does that mean?” Giles said quietly through greeted teeth.


Wesley closed his eyes, knowing, that he couldn’t get thrown off balance. They were facing the apocalypse, did they have time for quarrelling like five years old?


“Tweed guys are so asked not to toss heavy, however valuable, books at each other,” Dawn made a weak attempt to joke, trying to calm their fight.


No, there was no time for this.


“I – I’m sorry,” the words apparently didn’t want to leave his throat. “I must have been misunderstood. Today I threw myself over too many books, I’m just exhausted” he mumbled.


Giles didn’t answer. Behind his back, Dawn made a face to Willow and rolled her eyes. The redhead witch silently ordered her to stay quiet.


“Well, I see what the problem is,” Wesley spoke after a moment. “Although I am quite sure I have encountered that kind of language, I can’t remember, where or when…”


“How hard to believe…” Rupert muttered sarcastically under his breath.


“I can recognize Hebrew, Latin and even Sumerian words however…”


“See? I told you, it’s Sumerian!” Dawn prodded.


“It certainly isn’t,” Giles put the girl out, taking his glasses off his nose and starting to polish them. “Wesley recognized only characteristically…”


“Whatever,” the younger Summers rolled her for the second time in two minutes.


“This is exactly the attitude that won’t get us anywhere…”


“Um, guys? The referee is imposing a break,” Willow cut in, ending the pointless argument. For a while, at least.


“… however I presume that the majority of the incantation is written in Aramaic…”


“Aramaic? W-well, it’s surely an interesting concept,” Giles’s glasses went back onto his nose. “But in my opinion it’s not based on any human language. I do agree that there are many words derived from other dialects but…”


“Of course it is Aramaic,” Wesley said, his voice firm and cold. “Rupert, I do understand your doubts, but I spent my whole youth in libraries, studying exactly that kind of ancient text…”


“Oh, there’s nothing to be proud of about that…” Dawn murmured, but stayed out of the watchers way, sensing the danger.


“Are you implying that by being a field watcher, not some kind a scholar boy like those who stayed at London I have less knowledge…?”


“It’s not what I was saying! Are you doing it on purpose? Misreading every single word I say…?”


“It’s not my fault you’re not clear enough.”


“Well it’s not my fault you’re not willing to cooperate.”


“Hi, what’s up?” Buffy appeared from nowhere, looking curiously at the two fuming Englishmen.


“Oil fight,” her sister explained obligingly.


“Oh, does it involve Johnny Depp and Brad Pitt?”


“No, just Giles and Wesley,” Willow shook her head, obviously let down.


“Gross!” Buffy seemed truly horrified by the thought. “Don’t you ever say things like that in my presence again! I could get images or… Oh no, it’s too late…”


In the background Giles and Wesley were still fighting over the translation. Wesley already started to regret that anyone asked for his opinion… Well, what the bloody hell they were asking for, if they didn’t want to hear his judgement? It didn’t make any sense but Rupert was as stubborn as ever, despite the fact he had to know that Wesley was the more qualified party for that task… And instead of calming down and searching for the solution he just kept coming for more.


Wesley was so absorbed in yelling at him, that he didn’t notice that they were drawing attention. After a few minutes Angel intruded, trying to break them up, but without success.


The former watcher thought that this was it. There, at this very point – early point, might he add – their liaison was going to end. The bomb was ticking and it sure as hell was going to explode.


The funny part was, it actually didn’t. Because in less than a minute they froze – shocked, confused, unable to move.


“Spike?” Dawn’s screechy voice, all the shouting faltered and stop[ed. All heads turned to the direction of the newcomer.


And there he was, standing in Hyperion’s doorway, a suitcase in his left hand and a long object wrapped in grey packaging paper, and knowing him it was a shotgun, in his right. He was smirking, highly amused by the scene he’d just witnessed.


“Glad to see nothing’s changed,” he chuckled lightly, clearly delighted with their astonished expressions.


“Well, it definitely should have,” from behind Spike’s back popped in girlish pink head. “Don’t wanna be rude but, jeez, I thought we lived in a hell hole…”


“Oh, yeah, fine, you two can stand there and talk a little more,” to everyone’s surprise another girl came in. “I just love to be the one who carries all the heavy stuff… Like some errand boy, but less with the boy part and more… What’s wrong with them?” she asked, looking incredulously at the people gathered in the lobby. “Why aren’t they moving? Is that some sort of a spell, ‘cos God help me, I object to work before showering…”


Confronted with no reaction and more shocked glares, Spike’s smile broadened.


“Home sweet home.”